


I appreciate this whole seduction thing you've got going on here, but let me give you a tip: I'm a sure thing.

by tonsilfoodcourt



Category: Tiny Meat Gang (Band)
Genre: Dirty Talk, Drunk Sex, First Meetings, M/M, Prostitution Roleplay, idiots to lovers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-11
Updated: 2019-06-11
Packaged: 2020-04-24 11:46:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19172638
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tonsilfoodcourt/pseuds/tonsilfoodcourt
Summary: Cody flees a bad date and ends up on a...weird...date instead.(@elonpleasefuckmywife wantedNoel thinks Cody is a hooker and Cody doesn’t have the heart to correct him, so @elonpleasefuckmywife is gettingNoel thinks Cody is a hooker and Cody doesn’t have the heart to correct him.)





	I appreciate this whole seduction thing you've got going on here, but let me give you a tip: I'm a sure thing.

Good news, bad news: Cody’s date likes him _a lot,_ but…et cetera, story of his life. (If you can’t fill in that blank, picture this: he changed her contact name to “SUCKS, DON’T ANSWER” and reopened Hinge the first time she went to the restroom. Devon had shot him a look - _Again? You’re seriously doing the picky routine again?_ \- and Cody put his phone away. He’s not _so_ picky.)

At least it’s a group situation, no pressure, no expectations - but apparently gay bars play sports sometimes, fuck a stereotype, and now Devon and Sam are fully engrossed in the college ball game of the week and so are their dates, Cody’s included. (“I _went_ there! That’s my team!” Alexis-or-Ashley-or-Amber had gasped, clutching Cody’s arm like he could _give a shit.)_

Cody’s _bored._ He skipped lunch for the sake of maximum ab definition and looks goddamn _toned_ in a selection from his Coachella uniforms (fitted jeans, printed shirt unbuttoned to his navel) because he thought they’d be _dancing_ tonight, not sitting around staring at screens with a bunch of average-looking gay dudes who’ve finally taken a break from giving Cody’s table the side-eye to focus on sports commentary.

It’s a fuckin waste, is what it is.

\--

Cody slips away finally, opting to passively ghost - he thinks about saying goodnight altogether but he’s committed at this point to at least getting drunk, and the bar calls to him. There’s space to lean next to the only other guy who’s not watching the game, engrossed in what looks like Twitter (night mode, of course).

He glances up when Cody slides in sideways, follows the line of exposed skin up from Cody’s belt to his face and doesn’t even look apologetic to be caught doing it. _“You_ must be popular.” 

Cody can’t be sure if his eyes are incredibly striking or just incredibly intent. Either way Cody feels the frisson and plays it off by doubling down - makes a show of propping one elbow on the sticky countertop, lets his shirt fall open a little more deliberately. “What can I say? It pays the bills. Sometimes I even get free drinks out of it.”

“Is that so?” he deadpans, and Cody can’t help being pleased, vindicated - he’s not _picky,_ he just needs someone to pick up on his fuckin _jokes_ once in a while. This guy, skinny racially ambiguous gay #4 or whatever his name is, this guy gets it. “So what’ll it be then, Midnight Cowboy? A martini? Vodka soda?”

\--

Noel pays Cody’s new alter ego in drinks and cocktail cherries for wild facts about his life, invented on the spot.

“I’m too fuckin’ short for exotic dancing, so it was prostitution or - I don’t know, buy Xcode and develop an app.” Cody says it so _casually,_ waits for Noel to laugh but he doesn’t, he just plucks a cherry from his drink by the stem, brings it dripping to Cody’s palm.

His improv coach would be impressed with Cody’s commitment to the bit.

Cody wouldn’t normally have the impulse to shake his head with a smirk, nudge Noel’s hand upward by the wrist. Cody _definitely_ wouldn’t hold his mouth open for Noel’s cherry and Noel’s fingers, sticky with maraschino syrup - Ill-Informed Hooker Stereotype™ Cody would, though, and even keeps a straight face while he does it.

The cherry is sweet, and so is Noel's unsteady breath.

\--

“I expected you to tie it into a knot with your tongue, you know,” Noel says, watching him try to spit out the next cherry stem with some grace. “Isn't that the cliche?”

“Baby, I charge _extra_ for that shit,” Rent Boy Cody drawls back, all bored worldliness. All tease.

So Noel tucks a bill into Cody’s waistband, knuckles grazing slow over his skin, and then laughs loud and delighted when, rather than put it back into his mouth, Cody knots the stem twice with his fingers and offers it up. “Sucker. You think I’m that easy?”

“Oh no, I’m sure you’re very hard,” Noel murmurs, eyes still on Cody’s lips.

\--

The bathroom is club-typical - cleaned not often, lit brightly enough to rack up a precise line of coke on the back of your iphone but dimly enough you don’t feel surveilled while you’re rolling up that lucky $20. Cody feels Noel on his heels walking in, doesn’t look back until Noel plants a hand beside his to hold the door open. He has long fingers, Cody tries not to notice. “I thought you were saving our seats.”

“I was, but then I thought getting out of here sounded better.” Three urinals, but Noel takes the one in the center, bumps Cody’s shoulder while he unzips. _(Gross._ Cody doesn’t hate it.)

It takes a moment for the words to register, for Cody to drag his eyes back up past shoulder-level. He lost his subtlety 3 drinks ago, barely stops blurting something like _can we fuck at your place, my roommates have girls over_ and manages a neat “Don’t tell me you’re bored _already”_ in the last moment.

Noel laughs like Cody’s funny, or just hot (and if Noel’s drunk enough to properly appreciate him on any level, who is Cody to complain?). “Actually no, I was wondering if it was a good time to ask your rates.”

 _Rates._ Cody zips, buys time fucking with his hair in the mirror while he drags his thoughts into some kind of order. Right, the whole prostitute gag - slutty rent boy Cody, the one with the world-weary charisma. He can keep playing that if it’s working. (Judging by the way Noel’s reflection is watching his, it’s working.) “I couldn’t dream of charging _you,_ though.”

“Don’t you think I could afford it?” Noel smiles, easy but set. “Come on, I want the whole experience - what’s normal, like $500?”

The paper towel dispenser is empty. Isn’t it always? “Look, I -” 

Noel’s hands are cool when he takes Cody’s and carefully wipes them dry on the hem of his own t-shirt. “I’m not trying to be cheap, here, I really don’t know.”

They’re still holding hands when the song changes, when another group of guys piles through the door and into the stalls and surprises Cody into pulling away. The damp spot on Noel’s shirt is only noticeable if you’re looking for it.

Maybe it’s that damp spot and the weird brand of chivalry in the gesture, the way it knocks Cody off-balance. Maybe that's what makes him say _yeah, okay, where’s the ATM?_ when Noel tries again: “$1000? Is that closer?”

(“I mean, who would say no to $1000?” is the joke he’ll make later, when he owns up to this whole misunderstanding and they laugh about it together. Why rewrite the plot now when the chemistry is so right?)

\--

Noel calls a Lyft and they wait on the bench outside, together with their secret. His hand rests warm on Cody’s knee.

Street Walker Cody, no inhibitions, would catch Noel’s fingers and drag them further up his thigh - so after a moment, he does. “You’re hot, you know, you _could_ get it for free.”

“Too bad I have expensive tastes.” Noel rubs fingertips over the raised line of his jeans inseam until Cody shivers. He’s probably playing a character too, but it’s one Cody likes.

\--

_(So when do you tell a guy all the rules? ‘Cash up front, no kissing,’ isn’t that how it goes?_

Regular Cody, five G&Ts deep, gets to the mic before sexy call boy Cody and blurts _“Fuck_ no, I love kissing.”

He blushes, but maybe it’s too dark for Noel to see. “But I do have limits, sure...like, I don’t know,” he wracks his brain for a turn-off (later he’ll wonder why he didn’t just lie). “Don’t say anything mean?”

“Mean? To you?” Noel huffs a surprised laugh, like he’s charmed by it. Like he isn’t regretting every decision that has led up to this moment; maybe he isn’t. “How could anyone?”

“Well, you haven’t had to see me naked yet, have you?”)

\--

Eventually, he does.

And then Noel really _looks_ at him, in a way that might be the alcohol or might be something else - either way, Cody has to resist the urge to cross his arms over his chest or look down just to make _sure_ of what he looks like, makes himself smirk like he’s used to this and takes a step out of his dropped jeans. Walks forward until Noel is within reach, doesn’t take his hand but draws fingertips up toward Noel’s wrist anyway, like he’s considering it. “Well?”

“Uh.” Noel breathes in deep, startled out of some reverie by the reminder that Cody is physically present and here for the - for _him._ “Where can I...touch?”

“Wherever you want,” Cody can't resist preening a little in the glow of attention, but he's just getting into character: “you signed the lease, _baby,_ you get to drive.”

It feels like something an action movie babe would say to Jason Statham, and he's fine leaning all the way into that. It’s _fun,_ he’s having fun. He wants to know how this script ends.

He'll blame it on the cocktails later. He might as well be drunk, the way he loses the rest of his extensive list of car jokes on _you’ve got a license to..._ the minute Noel leans in and tongues his bottom lip.

\--

(“Is ‘slut’ mean?”

“What?”

“If I say ‘you're a little slut for this dick, aren't you’ is that mean?” Noel's voice goes deep, heavy, but there's a smile in it somewhere.

Cody shivers. Maybe he should have some fucking dignity, but -

“...No, you can say that.”)

\--

Noel has a bachelor’s fridge - condiments mainly, not much besides some turkey slices and a gallon of milk on the shelf when Cody pulls open the door. By the time he hears the shower turn off he’s got a makeshift panini press macgyvered out of a pan and a second pan, though, and he’s smug enough to call back over his shoulder, “You’re killing me, dude, what kind of millennial doesn’t have a fuckin’ avocado _or_ sriracha?”

“Well I didn’t realize I was having _guests,”_ Noel seems almost hesitant there in the doorway, almost young with his damp hair unstyled and tech conference swag tee a size big (Cody recognizes the name on the chest, almost asks if Noel is going this year). “So you made yourself right at home, huh?”

Cody cuts their sandwiches into tiny triangles, kindergarten style. He slides a plate across the counter and shrugs when Noel raises an eyebrow. It’s probably out of character to be this giddy, but - “Just thought _my_ midnight snack might want a midnight snack. Or a second midnight snack, you know, besides me.”

Noel laughs like a dumb pun is the funniest thing he’s ever heard. It’s stupid. It’s _cute._

\--

And then it’s _awkward,_ because Cody forgets he’s supposed to be a prostitute until his shoes are laced and he’s standing in Noel’s front hallway being offered a wad of twenties straight out of a music video. He’s not sure what to do with his hands, or his face, and Noel mistakes it for something else - suspicion, maybe. “It’s all there,” he says, “plus tip. You can count it.”

Cody opens his mouth to say _so I think I gave you the wrong impression about me_ but what he actually says is “That’s a lot of cash to have lying around at home, _plus tip.”_ and it comes out almost flirty again.

“Table stakes,” Noel says, like he hasn’t been waiting to so-casually drop the fact that he’s got a gambling addiction or whatever, “though I gotta say this might be the superior way to waste a night.”

Something about Noel having interests, being a person outside of this particular weird wet dream of an encounter, makes Cody take a step back when Noel tries to put the money into his hands. “Look, Noel, I can’t - “

“Don't make this weird, dude, i’m trying to be a good customer here. How am I supposed to use a coupon and then ask for your number?”

 _Don't make this weird._ Right. “I'm sure you'd manage somehow, you've been smooth when you wanted to be. Smooth-ish at least.” he _wants_ to give Noel his number, he's realizing, and that feels like it could only be disastrous but he's already holding his hand out for the money and the phone.

He saves himself in Noel's contacts as _Cody_ 🍑💋, loyal to his character or just to the way Noel is looking at him now. He’ll figure out how to explain later, if there is a later.

\--

Cody checks his phone on the ride home: _you’re a fucking pussy_ with love from Devon last night, a link to a job posting from Marcus, and then a few texts from an unknown number. _So what are you doing next weekend?_ and then _Or before next weekend?_

He takes a breath and catches sight of his reflection in the window, smiling like an idiot. No game.

He makes himself open the job posting first, skim a whole 10 bullets of bullshit about some iOS developer role and upload his resume before he saves Noel’s number and writes back.

_I’m free, but this one’s on me ok? I’ve got funds to burn, some sucker just way overpaid me for shit I was gonna do anyway_

He doesn’t have to wait long at all for the answering _Deal. Dinner?_

_Deal._

**Author's Note:**

> Prompts list I pulled this from is [here](https://elonpleasefuckmywife.tumblr.com/post/184716835047/tmg-ao3-is-dry-as-hell-use-these-they-could-meet).
> 
> I'm still trash and still [tastes-like-piss](https://tastes-like-piss.tumblr.com) on tumblr. Shoutout to the tiny meat gays discord for bullying me into finishing this!
> 
> (Obligatory disclaimer: Cody and Noel are real people with their own agency/lives/relationships/etc and these are just characters styled to look like them! I'm not making ANY statements about those two actual humans, I'm just out here trying to flex my creative writing muscle with character types/dynamics pulled from a pair of content creators I really really like. They would probably hate this, so please nobody send it to them. Thanks!!)


End file.
